


This is Where You Kiss Her

by newdisaster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, First Kiss, Last Kiss, M/M, pre-wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 21:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1723145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newdisaster/pseuds/newdisaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of this post </p>
<p>http://darlingbenny.tumblr.com/post/72662621307</p>
<p>I could not help myself</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is Where You Kiss Her

  Mary dashed off, leaving with a quick kiss to John and a quick peck on the cheek to Sherlock (which he grimaced at, but she knew better) and the flat was silent.

However, John’s mind consisted of seventeen little versions of himself, darting around wildly, searching through file cabinets in his dusty head and trying to see if he had ‘dancing’ anywhere up there. Sixteen of the little John’s were rushing around, panicking. The seventeenth was setting himself on fire, ready to throw it all to hell anyways—he was terribly tired of looking at doilies.

Sherlock, for his part, didn’t actually notice the blank staring John was doing for quite a long time for him. Once he did notice, he immediately frowned.

“John?” he said, but got no reaction. He said it again, this time louder, “John!”

John snapped out of it and looked up at Sherlock.

"Yeah, what is it?”

“That’s my question.”

“What?”

“You went all…” Sherlock waved his hand indiscriminately.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” John dismissed, more as a reflex, “just, um…”

“What?”

“Well I don’t, ah—”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t know how…” John trailed, expecting Sherlock to interrupt again, but when he didn’t, he was forced to finish his sentence, “…to dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know how to dance?”

“Ah, no. I don’t. Doesn’t come up often in med school or pub quizzes.”

“Oh.”

“Right.”

The flat was silent again, Sherlock looking  over to the table of wine glass accessories before he casually turned back to face John in his chair.

“I do.”

“Do what?”

“Know how.”

“How to what?”

There was a brief pause.

"Dance.”

“Dance?”

“Yes.”

“You,” John raised his eyebrows, “know how to dance?”

“I just said I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

Sherlock nodded and turned back. John stared at the floor.

They both looked at each other at the same time and spoke simultaneously.

“Are you offering to—”

“I could—”

John finished first.

“Teach me?”

“Yes.”

“You want to teach me…how to dance?”

Sherlock turned back to the table, looking a little more than slightly embarrassed.

“It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of necessity. You will be dancing at your wedding and you don’t know how to. I have the required skills and it is only logical that I impart that knowledge onto you. And Mary undoubtedly knows how to dance, judging by her—”

“Right, Sherlock,” John cut him off, but smiled. It had been a while since Sherlock had come back, but the tiniest deductions always made John a bit…choked up, and he didn’t really want that.

“Anyways, it’s not that difficult. We could do it now, if you like.”

“Now?”

“Why not?”

John could think of no reason to argue.

“All right. How do I do it?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed and the crinkle above his nose that John knew meant confusion appeared.

“You stand up and we dance.”

John’s eyes went wide.

“We what?”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Sherlock sighed, “this is your  _wedding_ , John. Surely, you’re not going to let the reception be a disaster just because you didn’t want to learn how to waltz with your male flatmate.”

John blinked at him. Sherlock’s heart froze into a solid block of ice, froze his lungs, and shattered his ribcage.

“Former flatmate.”

John let out a breath and smiled.

“You’re right, right,” he said and stood up, but then his eyes darted to the windows, “wanna draw the curtains?”

“John, you can’t be—”

“All right, have it your way, but when Mycroft shows up with the incriminating video evidence—”

“Say no more,” Sherlock said and hastily covered the windows. John smiled and prepared himself. Sherlock stepped in front of him.

“Okay, so…what do I do?”

“Never waltzed before?”

“Not even once.”

“Wonderful. All right so…step forward.”

“Why do I have to step forward?”

“John, just work with me. I’m the teacher. You’re the student. You do as I say.”

John groaned but did step forward into Sherlock’s space. They were about a foot apart.

“We’ll start here. Now, the tricky thing is that I have to teach you how to lead.”

“Okay.”

“It means you’ll be the one who steps forward.”

“I already did.”

“No, I mean when you dance, you’ll lead, so you’ll step forward and Mary will step back.”

“Oh, right.”

“We’ll start simple. Put your hand in mine.”

Sherlock lifted his left hand and John took a quick breath before taking his hand. Sherlock’s other hand came up to John’s shoulder.

“Your hand goes on my waist.”

“Um…where?”

Sherlock patiently moved his hand from John’s shoulder to his wrist, guiding John’s hand until fingers ran along his hip. Sherlock pushed the hand lower so it was pretty much on his arse. John looked at him.

“Isn’t that a bit low?”

“You’re practicing dancing with Mary, yes?”

“I suppose…ultimately, yes.”

“Then you must account for our height differences. She’s much shorter than me and therefore your hand must go lower on my person, so that it will be—”

“I get it, I get it, let’s just…” John sighed and licked his lips, “get on with it.”

“Okay, step forward with your left foot…”

And so it began. There were toes stepped on, the toes of both men, which led to quick frustration. John grew envious of how it just seemed so easy for Sherlock. He would miss a step and they would nearly bash into the desk or fall over the coffee table. John would breathe out of his nose and Sherlock would huff and then they would be back together, trying again.

“John, chin up.”

“What?”

“Chin up! Stop watching your feet!”

“How am I supposed to know where to bloody step if I can’t watch my feet?”

“Chin…” there was a hand off his shoulder and on his jaw, “…up!”

John was abruptly aware that they had somehow gotten closer. They were much less than a foot away. He was almost bumping noses with him.

“Sherlock, I—”

“You were in the military, John! It’s just like marching. Just think of it that way. Chin up, and focus!”

The look Sherlock gave him was so intense that he met it and wasn’t able to look away. He shut his eyes off and just focused on stepping, making it natural.

John’s vision came back to him when Sherlock’s intense stare gave way to the beginnings of a smile.

“I think you’ve got it.”

“I’ve got it?” John repeated back, excitedly and was met with an equally giddy expression.

“You’ve got it!” Sherlock laughed.

And then they were dancing.

Not just  _1, 2, 3, 4,_ but properly moving together. John led them all around the room, the two sharing a giggles and falling into step around the obstacles the room gave them.

It was the happiest Sherlock had been in years. John would not have admitted it, but it was possible that he felt the same.

After a while John backed up and did a little twirl.

“Watch out, Mary Morstan, your boy’s a dancer!”

Sherlock chuckled and then raised a finger.

“Ah, but we’ve got to put it to the test now: to music.”

“Music? What’ve you got picked out?”

Sherlock leaned over and pressed play on his iHome and then grabbed John again. John didn’t have to even think to move his hands in their proper place.

“You’re leading,” Sherlock said, his tone soft, “to the beat, now.”

John swallowed, but then violin music came from the speakers, flowing through the flat and surrounding the two of them and it was easier than breathing when John stepped forward and Sherlock stepped back.

It was slower than they had been going, which John suspected Sherlock had done on purpose. John became a little distracted as the music played.

“What is this?”

“The Ballad of John and Mary,” Sherlock smirked. John’s face instantly softened.

“This is you?”

“Yes.”

“You wrote this for us?”

“Yes.”

John’s chest suddenly felt heavy and his throat thick.

“It’s beautiful,” he said in almost a whisper.

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied and they stayed silent, just sort of smiling a little, not breaking eye contact.

Towards the end of the song, Sherlock smirked.

“There is…one more thing.”

“What’s that?” John asked.

“There is going to be a change in the music, and you’re going to surprise Mary.”

“Am I?” John smirked back. “And how am I going to do that?”

Sherlock waited until just the right moment and then took John in his arms tightly.

“Like this,” he said and then proceeded to turn and dip John.

John’s face of complete shock was wonderful. But what was better was the look that followed when Sherlock leaned down, nearly imperceptibly, but John noticed, and whispered in a low voice:

“And this is where you kiss her, John.”

There was a heavy note playing out that pierced through John’s ears, but he could still hear his own heartbeat over it.

And their breathing; labored and heavy. Sherlock did not miss John’s eyes growing a bit black before the man nodded.

“Excellent!” he said and then attempted to lean back up. Sherlock helped him and they broke apart rather quickly.

“Good! Right! That’ll be nice to surprise her with. How’d you do that?”

Sherlock showed him the basic maneuver a few times, making sure John would be able to adapt no matter where Mary was moving towards.

“Now, one last practice and—”

“I think I’ve got it,” John interjected, far too fast.

The crinkle on Sherlock’s nose was back.

“But..you don’t know how to do it.”

“Didn’t look that hard. And you just showed me.”

“That’s because I know what I’m doing without a person, but you don’t yet. You have to know when to do it, whether you can even hold her up, and how embarrassing would that be to drop the bride on her—”

“All right, fine!” John snapped, visibly irritated, though Sherlock wasn’t sure with what. Sherlock restarted the song and they came together like they’d been doing it for years.

The music started and John’s eyes did not meet Sherlock’s.

“Come on, John,” Sherlock said, voice as soft as his expression. John met his eyes and tried to stay disgruntled, but he couldn’t.

“This really is…beautiful…” he said again.

“I had proper inspiration,” Sherlock replied and finally John looked at him. They shared a smile and a signal all their own and the air around them rested. They didn’t break eye contact at all and the feeling of absolute dread reached Sherlock’s chest again.

This was it. His last moments with John. The most intimate they’d ever been and it for John’s wedding. The wedding that everyone promised would take John from him. Mary was wonderful, of course. He actually liked the woman immensely. She was clever, incredibly so, and naturally Sherlock liked her. But, ultimately, she was taking John from him and it hurt him like a knife to his heart. He could almost feel the sharp press of the blade going through his lungs.

Oddly enough, the same sort of thoughts were running through John’s head as well.

The end of the song was coming and John tensed.

“Ready?”

“I think so.”

“You just wait for the cue—”

“And then—“

“Dip!”

John hit the cue perfectly, turning Sherlock and cradling him and easing him backwards. He leaned over Sherlock just slightly.

“And this is where I kiss you,” John said, then his eyes snapped open wide, “her, I mean.”

Sherlock’s mouth fell open and he nodded.

“Yes…yes, John. This is where…you kiss her.”

They’d had this moment already, but it felt different. It was heavier, more laced with desperation for something neither man could understand.

Without any hesitance and feeling as natural as if they’d practiced it as well, John leaned his head down just as Sherlock leaned up and their lips met with a brief, gentle kiss, both sets of eyelids descending to commit to that moment.

They separated far too quickly for either of their liking. But just in time.

“Boys, I wanted to bring up…” Mrs. Hudson was saying as she held a color wheel in her hand, but then she saw them, hands entwined, John dipping Sherlock, the small gap between their faces, and gasped, “Oh good heavens! I’m sorry!” she said and darted downstairs.

Sherlock and John looked at each other and burst out laughing.

It was a perfect way to lean Sherlock back up, straighten out their clothing, and share a smile. It took a few moments before John shook his head.

“Oh, we’re gonna hear about that.”

“I suspect all of London will now,” Sherlock added and John giggled.

“I’m not going to live that one down.”

“I’ll leave it out of my best man speech.”

The laughter fizzled out and they just looked at each other before John cleared his throat.

“Right, well, I better…head home.”

“Of course,” Sherlock agreed and pointed at all of the samples still scattered around the flat, “I’ll have to show Mary the ones I would suggest for her later.”

“Right,” John nodded then let out a deep breath, “erm, thank you for that.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

John blinked a few times, but recovered.

“The…song, and…teaching me how to dance and… all that.”

Sherlock gave him a side smile.

“What are best friends for?”

Just as the laughter had fizzled, so did the fire that had only briefly burned in both men’s chests, dying with Sherlock’s words. He knew he was doing the right thing, letting John go back to his soon-to-be wife, and John knew  _he_ was doing the right thing, going back to his soon-to-be wife.

But the knife had stabbed back into his chest, but there were now multiple knives, all buried in critical points in his nervous system.

For a moment he knew that John had had a glimpse of what Sherlock had hoped for when he returned. Because two years away had told Sherlock exactly how he felt about John Watson and it wasn’t strictly platonic.

One kiss, and John had seen his world. His entire battlefield.

But John no longer sided with him. He was still an ally, one Sherlock could count on, but they were no longer comrades in arms.

The moment of possibility, of opportunity, faded as John turned and put on his coat. He turned and gave Sherlock a little salute with his gloves and walked out of the flat.

Sherlock swallowed hard. Well…the stag night was going to need careful and cautious planning, wasn’t it?


End file.
